Under his leadership the army had marched from one victory to another.

While he held the sceptre one abundant harvest followed another, and he had married the most beautiful and most virtuous daughter of the mightiest prince in the kingdom.
In the midst of a hot conflict, and at the moment that his own army sent up a shout of victory, he met his death.

Everything that the heart of man could desire had been accorded to him, except the one joy of possessing a son and heir.

But he had left the world in the hope that that wish, too, would be fulfilled.
Black banners floated from the battlements of the castle, the columns at its entrance were wreathed in crape, the gold state-coaches were painted black, and the manes and tails of the duke's horses bound with ribbons of the same sombre hue.

The master of the hunt had the gaily-colored birds in the park dyed, the schoolmaster had the copy-books of the boys covered with black, the merry minstrels in the land sang only sad strains, and every subject wore mourning.